Midnight in a Perfect World
by C-Unit
Summary: One-Shot This is so not my scene, man. K/G


So you enter the club and it's like you're in slow motion and your first notion is to completely run right back out the door because you don't belong here at all.

The music is a complete anomaly. Faces and people flicker in the strobing lights; different colors, different poses, different faces. A flash and then they're gone. Ghosts that appeared as fast as they disappeared.

And you, David Gordon, are a ghost yourself. Out of focus with everyone else, alone in a pulsating crowd. You don't know why you're here. At least, on the surface you don't know why you're here. You don't know what to say or do or how to feel or anything of that. It's kind of sad, actually. You used to have all the answers for everything but now that you're here you don't know anything. You're weak and you're chickenshit and you knew it was only inevitable that it would be shoved in your face at some point.

But then you see her. Through all the smoke and shifts of light she's there. A blonde-haired, curvy, beautiful beacon of hope and endless potential. She's dancing in her little blue tank top and some kind of tiny ruffled skirt and she looks so good and so beautiful that it makes your heart ache right then and there. And this is the point in the story that you realize that things might not be so bad after all, and that right now, in this moment, you've got a purpose. But this sort of thing only takes you so far. You have to take the next step and follow through.

*****

I came here because Claire and the rest of the cheerleader sheep made me come here. Being a friend to everyone is a hard deal sometimes. It's a constant balance of the superficial stupid. "Am I spending enough time with this person?" and all the other questions that get answered through schedules and bartering of free time. But I can't blame Claire or the other cheerleaders. This club is actually pretty damn good. I'm glad I got to cut loose for one night of my life. I put on my slutty little tank top and my slutty little skirt and it was like old times. Claire and Kate. Kate and Claire. The two of them surrounded by the cheerleaders and at the center of everything.

I used to love that sort of thing. Eat it up and drink it up and savor it as if it gave me my very essence. But now, not so much. I've spent more time pushing perverts away from grinding my ass than I have actually dancing. That shit is disgusting! I can understand why they do it but it's still terrible and gross and all those disgusting-like adjectives. If you want proof that we evolved from monkeys, that we're from some lower life form, just go to a nightclub and watch the mating behaviours. All the evidence is right there.

And then I feel it against my derriere, the next - and not last - one of the night. A male hardness. Hands on my hips. Stubble and bad breath pushing against my cheek. Ugh. This is so not my scene, man.

So I turn around and it's some guy in jeans and a suit jacket. He's totally GQ with a dash of emo and he looks completely, horribly calculated. Like he spent all day working towards this very moment. I notice that there's a wedding ring on his finger - a simple golden band - and I realize he's read that new article in that men's magazine about the proper ways on how to cheat on your wife. I just roll my eyes and take a step back from him, starting to dance without him. And then I see those eyes from the distance. David Gordon's here and I think I'll just die from how cute he is.

*****

Well, she was impressive in the calm and cool manner she ditched that married guy. He's still dancing up to her though, not giving up. I wonder if he read that article you heard about. Pretty fucking pathetic. But still, he's up there, you're down here, and you're probably gonna get all scared and leave any second now.

And then out of nowhere two cute girls start dancing with you. Even though you're not moving, and maybe you're not as tall as the other guys in this place, but yep, there they are. And they're getting pretty close to you. Pat down your back pocket. Yep. Your wallet's still there. I guess you can try to bust a move or whatever it is they do here. And they're cute enough. They probably have matching names and matching IQs and all of that business, which is cute too, you suppose.

"Hey, I'm David!" you call out to them. They move in closer.

"I'm Chrissy!" says the brunette.

"I'm Missy!" says the blonde.

You were right about the matching names at least, and with names like that, you can only make an educated guess at the IQ levels. You look back up to Kate and she's looking back. Smiling. Is she proud you've got two girls swirling around you like water to a drain? I guess so. We've come so far since middle-school when we'd chew each other out. It's amazing what trips to Italy will do to people. What high school and a bit of college and this and that do to people. People you never spoke to in middle-school are now your confidants in your constant battle against the world. Kate's still Kate sometimes but considering you see her about 1000% more than what you used to, that would entail the idea that maybe just maybe you've grown up a little.

*****

I can't help but smile. That's Gordo for you. Completely unaware at the philosophical and sociological notions of having a blonde and brunette dancing close to you on the dancefloor. I don't know if he knew how many guys in Hillridge hated him for having both Lizzie and Miranda as his best friends. With the constant attention they'd give him, all the men in that backwater place would curse Gordo under their breath for having the luxury of having the upper echelon of Hillridge at his beg and call all the time. They'd call him names and question his sexuality, but come on, I knew they were jealous. I can read people like that. It's one of those things you learn when you realize long ago that your friends might not be your friends and everything you do comes under scrutiny.

But, ugh, that married guy is back. He will not give up. Same routine. Behind me with the hardness and hands on the hips. Was tenacity one of the things that article taught you, you stupid asshole? I try to take more steps away from him, but he clings on.

"Come on baby, one more dance" he says. It's cool and drunken and I can just picture his buddies in the corner egging him on. There are a million girls in this club tonight, why can't he ruin one of their lives instead of mine? I keep dancing with him but it's intentionally out of rhythm and I put on my patented complete face of disgust.

*****

Missy and Chrissy keep prattling on about something. Come back to their house to presumably, have some beer or something. Such thin veiled attempts these days at these sort of things. You shrug and look over to Kate. She's got that married guy dancing with her again and you feel that normal pang of jealousy until you see the look of disgust on her face. In her attempt at being nice - which is always kind of cute on Kate, by the way. It's like a puppy trying really hard not to be bad. - he's taken advantage. She looks disgusted and she's trying to brush him away as he softly kisses her neck.

It's your choice, Gordo. Fight or flight. Let Kate be the strong, independent woman and fight for her own right to party or go up there and be helpful in that chivalry kind of way. And you already know what you're going to do, because the married guy's hands are slowly heading south from her hips to her ass and you know that if she lets him do that in some kind of passive-aggressive way he will stick to her the entire night. And no offense to the married guy who knew nothing about them, but that's really not in your plans for this evening.

To a chorus of "Hey!" and "What the hell!?" you break through the Missy-Chrissy wall and get to Kate. It might not be in keeping with her independent woman tableaux she's kept up, but it's the right thing to do.

*****

Gordo was gone like a flash. Through the people and the lights he was gone. What happened? It's not an unwelcome thought, but I need him right now. Drunk guy behind me will not let go. Claire and the other cheerleaders don't know what to do and I can see it on their faces. But then I can feel it. Gordo standing next to me.

"Come on, man, she doesn't want to dance with you" says Gordo, who lightly pushes the man away from me. It's a friendly "pull-aside" and I hope the friendliness shines through to this guy.

"Find your own girl, I saw her first" says the guy. He looks at me like a wolf sees a sheep. I hate him. I hate guys like that. But lightning-quick, I neutralize the situation. I move very close to Gordo's side and wrap my arms around him. My left hand on his chest, my right arm around his back. My head rests on his shoulder. I want to revel in the surprising comfort of the situation, but pull myself together just for the moment needed.

"He's my boyfriend" I say. And the married guy frowns and shakes his head.

"This shrimp?" he spits out, aimed at Gordo. Gordo just smiles.

"Go home to your wife, man. She probably wants to see you" he says. The drunk guy just shakes his head and mutters "tease" before leaving us.

I stay in David's arms. It feels right. He moves his body around to face me and I quickly check my watch. It's almost midnight. There's still a lot of evening left.

"Your boyfriend" he says. "I like the way that sounds."

I smile wide.

"It would be a perfect world" I say. And we kiss softly, longingly.


End file.
